“Then cook her an egg!” she turned to me. Her face was red, dissatisfied. “Are you even a mother, or what? That sausage – it belongs to the mother. And the blue cheese too. And the red fish. Tomorrow is her wedding anniversary, she will be 60 years old. I bought some goodies to set a proper table. And you are here… like grasshoppers. As soon as I put it down – you immediately disappear.
I turned off the gas. It seemed like the soup could be saved, but my mood was in tatters.
I went to the table. The oilcloth was sticky, stained with tea stains. Vanya was sitting on a chair and sniffing. His eyes itched, he began to rub them with his fist.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” he whispered.
“Right away, bunny.” I stroked her head. Her hair was soft and smelled like baby shampoo.
I took the white bread from the bread maker. I cut off a slice. I spread butter on it. Thinly, because the butter was running low, and there was still a week until payday.
I put a piece of Doktorskaja cold cuts on it. Cheap ones that I bought on sale at the supermarket.
Vanya took the sandwich and began to eat greedily, taking big bites.
Vitya looked at him with disgust on his face.
“See? He’s eating. You say he’s hungry. You spoiled them, Grandma.”
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